Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!

By the third week, a new symptom began appearing in those too weak to endure the illness—bleeding from nearly every orifice.

Blood dripped from noses, ears, gums, and, in some terrifying cases, even the eyes.

Cortinvar descended further into despair.

This terrifying development was due to a complication of severe measles in rare cases.

The disease was destroying the patients' platelet count, pushing them into thrombocytopenia—making even the smallest blood vessels rupture with ease.

Though, no one know about this except Claude.

Aurelia wiped blood from an old man's eyes with trembling hands. He looked to be in his mid-fifties.

'What is this?' she thought, her hands pausing. 'Is the Red Slumber... Evolving? If it is, can Claude's medicine still cure it?'

Her thoughts froze as the old man's body jerked. His eyes shot open, wild and pitch black, rimmed with blood.

In a sudden burst of strength, he grabbed her wrist with a grip tighter than she expected from someone so frail.

"K-Kill me..." he croaked at first, barely audible. Then he screamed. "KILL ME!!"

He yanked her hand toward his throat, his bloody gaze locked on hers. Panic surged through Aurelia's body.

Her feet wouldn't move. Her breath caught.

She didn't even notice herself bumping into a supply cart, spilling bottles and bandages across the floor.

She couldn't look away from his eyes—those bleeding, pitch-black eyes that seemed to plead for an end, as though every second he remained alive was a cruel punishment.

Volunteers rushed in, prying him off her. She collapsed backwards, landing hard on her rear. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

Voices swirled around her.

"Aurelia! Are you hurt?!"

"What happened?!"

But all she could hear was the pounding of her own heart, thundering so loud it drowned everything else out.

Her vision blurred, but she kept staring—staring at the man who now thrashed in his bed.

He was still looking at her.

Even as others held him down, he wouldn't look away.

'He thinks I have the cure,' she thought. 'He thinks I can save him... and I didn't.'

Then, just as suddenly as it began, it ended.

The old man gave one final heave, a cough of blood that splattered his pillow, and went limp.

His eyes remained open. Blood continued to trickle down his cheeks.

No one could close them.

It was as if he refused to die—refused to rest—haunting Aurelia with a silent accusation.

And she could only sit there, trembling… unable to breathe.

After the incident, Aurelia was ordered to rest for a day.

But even when she closed her eyes, the man's bloodshot, blackened gaze haunted her.

The image seeped into her dreams, bleeding into reality whenever the world turned dark.

She couldn't escape it—his voice echoed in her ears, over and over again, like a curse etched into her mind.

She tried to forget, tried to sleep it off, but the guilt gnawed at her relentlessly.

Until one night, she broke.

Barefoot and half-dressed, she ran into the empty streets, unbothered by the biting cold.

Her lungs burned, her breath came in ragged gasps, but she didn't stop. The cold numbed her feet, but the guilt scorched her chest hotter than any fire.

'This is my fault. I'm part of this. Their deaths… they're on my hands too.'

Eventually, she arrived at the apothecary—Claude's secret storage where the medicines were hidden.

'I have to get them. I have to give them to the people… Even if it's just a little.'

She crept to the side building used to store the drugs, her breath hitching as she pushed the door open. Rows of shelves greeted her—boxes upon boxes of vials and containers.

She rummaged through them until she found what she was looking for: small, dark gray pills sealed in glass jars.

She grabbed as many as her arms could carry, but they kept slipping.

"Ah… I forgot a bag… Why am I so stupid…" she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her hands trembled, and before she knew it, she collapsed to the floor, her knees buckling under the weight of her emotions.

The pills scattered around her, clinking against the wood tiles.

She cried—helpless, hopeless tears.

She knew Claude would kill her for this, but death felt kinder than living with this guilt.

'I should've never agreed to that daemon's offer… I should've just walked away…'

And then, through the fog of her sobbing, she felt a shadow looming behind her.

She turned around, startled, ready to be struck down.

But what she saw froze her in place.

"Rhys?"

"Aurelia…" His voice was quiet, his face etched with worry.

He approached slowly, kneeling beside her and gently taking the container from her trembling hand.

Aurelia's felt relief for a moment, but that relief quickly withered as he silently returned the pills to the box and shut the lid tight.

"Remember this, Aurelia… you were never here," he whispered, not unkindly.

"Wh… why?" Her voice cracked again. "Why are you by his side? Don't you see what he's doing? All of this—it's cruel, it's—!"

She choked on her words.

"Why, Rhys? You're not a monster like this!"

He sighed and remained still beside her. "I am," he said simply. "You just never saw that side of me."

He looked her in the eyes.

"What His Majesty is doing… it's necessary. This world was already falling apart. If not him, the Church would've done worse."

"You saw it. What they did to the villagers who helped us? That's only the beginning."

He leaned closer, gently brushing her tears with his thumb.

"And this isn't your fault, Aurelia. It never was. This is all on Claude. You and me are just his pawn." he looked at her face who was traumatized, his heart was heavy.

"You don't need to carry it alone."

Then, as if giving her permission to fall apart, he pulled her into a hug.

"I know this is hell for you. But hold on, just a little longer. Everything will be okay."

And in his arms, Aurelia broke.

She sobbed into his shoulder—loud, ugly cries that tore from her chest like a flood finally breaking through a dam.

'I just have to be strong a little longer…' she told herself. 'For Mother, for Rhys… and for me.'

But even after returning to her temporary home, Aurelia's body refused to rest. By morning, she had developed a high fever, causing Aubree to panic as she tended to her only child.

With trembling hands, Aubree used her magic to make sure it wasn't the Red Slumber. When the result showed otherwise, she finally sighed in relief.

She gently wrung out a wet cloth and placed it on Aurelia's forehead.

Aurelia's face twisted into a frown as she tossed and turned in her sleep. Sweat beaded her pale skin, and every so often she whispered something unintelligible.

Aubree sat by her side the entire time, worry etched deep in her tired eyes.

When the sun reached its peak, Aurelia finally opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was her mother, slumped in a chair beside the bed, sleeping with her hand still resting on the mattress.

Aurelia shifted to sit up, and that slight movement stirred her mother awake.

"Aurelia, you're awake…" Aubree leaned forward quickly. "Are you alright? I heard what happened… with that old man… You must've felt awful."

Her voice trembled as she examined her daughter's face—drawn, thin, and exhausted. She looked like a ghost of herself.

"You must be hungry. I'll go make you some soup," Aubree added, gently stroking her daughter's arm before standing up.

Aurelia gave a slight nod, still too drained to speak.

A short while later, Aubree returned with a steaming bowl of soup. Aurelia ate in silence, her expression distant.

The usual light in her eyes was gone—dimmed by everything she had witnessed, by the guilt she still carried.

Aubree watched her with a tightening heart, unable to stay quiet any longer. She reached out and held Aurelia's hand firmly.

"Aurelia… I will always be by your side. No matter what," she said, voice trembling. "So please… talk to me. Tell me what's in your heart."

Aurelia paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. "…If I tell you, you won't tell me to be stronger or scold me for it?"

"Of course not," Aubree whispered. "You've suffered more than enough. We all have… But I see you trying to carry it alone. You don't have to."

She gave her daughter a small smile, eyes brimming with emotion. "I know you want to be strong. But hurting yourself in silence isn't strength, Aurelia. Please… let me carry some of it too."

For a moment, Aurelia was silent. Then, slowly, she set the bowl down and nodded. And with a shaky breath, she began to speak.

She told her mother everything. Aubree didn't interrupt. She just listened, holding her daughter's hand the whole time.

And in that quiet room, with only their hearts echoing between words, the bond between mother and daughter grew stronger—rooted in shared pain, watered by understanding.

When she had said everything, Aurelia felt lighter. Not free, but no longer suffocating.

Aubree cupped her daughter's cheek. "Aurelia… Let's go see Claude. Let's ask him to stop this. People have suffered enough… and so have you."

She smiled faintly, though her eyes were filled with determination. "And if he won't listen… then let's run. Just like we used to. Just the two of us against the world."

Aurelia's throat tightened. She leaned in and embraced her mother tightly.

"Thank you, Mother… for being my mother."

And for the first time in days, the ache in her chest began to fade, but never left her. She carried it, not alone this time, but it was still hers to bear

But peace never lasted long.

That same day, a message arrived—an order summoning Aurelia to the palace.

To heal Queen Emmalise.

Claude's plan had entered its next stage.